


when the dark night seems endless

by spacehopper



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 22:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12874713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: At the end of it all, he hopes this is what Prompto remembers.





	when the dark night seems endless

“That beard looks ridiculous.”

It’s the first thing Noctis says when he and Prompto are alone. He wants to kick himself. After ten years, that’s what he leads with? Not ‘How are you, Prompto?’ Or ‘Hope you’re not too traumatized by a decade of daemons?’

“Yours looks good,” Prompto says. 

Noctis rubs at his face self-consciously. He’s pretty sure he looks the opposite of good right now, shabby and dirty and just tired. So tired. He leans against the back of the caravan, closing his eyes. 

“How have you been?” 

“Oh, you know,” Prompto says, some of the old warmth in his voice. “Hunting daemons. Saving beautiful women. Being heroic and generally pretty awesome.”

“Good,” Noctis says. He doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t think he can bear to look at Prompto right now.

“S’not the same without you, though.”

Something twists in Noct’s chest. He’s not ready for this. He shifts, aluminum flaking under his hand. The corrosion is a chilling reminder of the world he’d left behind. Of the people he’d left behind.

“Yeah, I’m pretty irreplaceable.”

He opens his eyes in time to see Prompto crack a smile, and if it’s a little weak, well, Noct’s not going to mention it. Prompto takes a step towards him, then halts. He opens his mouth, shuts it, takes a shaky breath. Another step, more confident, and then he's there, so close Noct can the individual freckles scattered across his face. Noct’s eyes widen as Prompto buries his fingers in Noct’s hair, says, “I hope you don’t kill me for this,” and kisses him. 

Noctis freezes, fingers skittering against the cold metal behind him. Prompto’s lips are chapped, his mouth graceless and hot. Something inside him thaws, and he shivers, gingerly placing a hand on Prompto’s waist. 

Prompto pulls back, breath ghosting on Noct’s lips. With a glimmer of a smile, he says, “Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”

“You sound like you’re trying to pick me up at a bar.”

“Trying?” He runs his knuckles along Noct’s cheek. Noct leans into the touch. “I think I succeeded.”

“We’ll see about that.” Something long dormant blooms inside him, and he grabs Prompto’s hand, dragging him into the caravan. He’s heading for the bed in the back, but just inside the door, after they’ve kicked aside their boots, Prompto fists a hand in his shirt, pushing him up against the counter. Noctis braces himself with an arm, and sends a bowl clattering to the floor, where it shatters.

Prompto starts against him. Noctis tries to pull away to pick up the pieces, but Prompto’s having none of it. He holds Noct in place, burying his face in the crook of Noct’s neck and taking a deep breath. 

“We’ll get it later,” Prompto says. He sounds confident there will be a later. For a moment, this moment, Noctis chooses to believe him.

“Later,” he says. “Sounds good.” On impulse, he kisses Prompto on the forehead. There’s a tiny scar there he hadn’t noticed before. 

“What’s that from?” Near miss from a daemon, maybe. Too near.

“I ran into a wall,” Prompto says, smiling ruefully. “I was drunk.”

“I wish I’d been there.” He feels it keenly, an ache in his chest. If he’d been there, he’d have handed him a potion, then laughed. Maybe kissed him. And they’d have gone back to a hotel, or a tent, or maybe this exact caravan, and fallen together into bed. 

Maybe they still can.

“Me too,” Prompto says. He sounds sad, and that won’t do. So Noctis grabs his hand, dragging him to the back of the caravan. He slams his elbow against the door as he drags Prompto through the threshold, and mumbles a curse.

“You okay?” Prompto says, wrapping his fingers around Noct’s arm. 

“Yeah, fine,” Noct says. Prompto doesn’t let go of his arm. 

“I’m fine,” he repeats. And right now, it feels true. He leans in and kisses Prompto on the nose, which Prompto wrinkles in response. It’s adorable. Noctis spent too long thinking Prompto was adorable and not doing anything about it. More than time to change that. 

“Were you always such a dork?” Prompt says, laughing. Noctis flushes, and hopes Prompto can’t see it in the dark. He’s supposed to be kingly. Something like that. But Prompto makes him feel so young. 

“C’mon.” Prompto tugs him over to the bed, falling back onto it and dragging Noct down with him. He stays there for a moment, knees brushing against Prompto’s hips, staring down at him. His hair’s a mess, and there’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Noctis wipes it away.

“Thanks,” Prompto says. “What’d I do without you?”

“Run into walls, apparently.”

“Nah, I did that with you, too.”

“So you did,” Noctis says. He sees Prompto swallow, but otherwise he stays still. Noct’s hands are sweating. One of them has to do something. So Noctis pulls off his shirt in one swift movement, throwing it across the room.

“So you do have muscles under there.”

“Shut up,” he says. “Or I’ll put it back on.”

“Can’t have that,” Prompto says. He’s propped himself up on his elbows, and he’s grinning. Noct rolls his eyes, yanks at Prompto’s shirt. Prompto lifts his arms obediently, and the shirt comes free, joining Noct’s across the room. Scars cross a large portion of Prompto’s skin. 

“What happened?” he says, tracing one with a finger.

“Daemons,” Prompto says. “Pretty badass, right?”

“We fought daemons before,” Noctis says.

“Yeah, but you were there then.” The potions. Right. “Look, it doesn’t matter now. And it’s kind of sexy. Or so I’m told.”

Better he never had the scars at all. But Noct doesn’t say that. It wouldn’t change anything, and it isn’t what Prompto needs to hear. Instead, he leans down to kiss one that crosses right over Prompto’s heart. He feels more than hears the sharp intake of breath as he draws his tongue down the line, then moves to one that stretches across his stomach. It’s red, and looks newer than the one on his chest. 

“Ronin caught me off guard,” he says. His disapproval must be apparent on his face, because Prompto rolls his eyes. “That’s the exact expression Ignis had when I told him.”

“Looking like Ignis,” Noctis says. “I must be getting old.”

“I’m not getting any younger here either,” Prompto says. Noctis rests a hand on his waistband, and their eyes meet. 

“I don’t really—” Noctis swallows, pushes forward. There isn’t _time_. “I don’t have any experience. I know in theory, but—”

“Hey, it’s cool.” Prompto reaches out to rest one of his hands on Noct’s. “Honestly, I haven’t exactly got much myself. Tried it a time or two, but it was never—” He trails off, his fingers clenching around Noct’s. 

“Never what?” he says, fearing he already knows the answer.

“It was never you.”

He feels a small thrill, that ten years have passed, and no one has replaced him for Prompto. And he hates it, how cruel it is, how selfish. They’d barely acknowledged what they meant to each other before Noctis had disappeared. Just one frantic kiss, deep in Zegnautus Keep, while Gladio and Ignis had pretended not to see.

“It is sexy,” Noctis says. “You’re,” he flicks open the button on Prompto’s jeans, “sexy.”

“I—” Prompto’s voice cracks. “Damn it.” Noctis pulls the zipper down, brushing his fingers over the thin fabric it reveals. Prompto chokes out a noise, arching into the touch.

Noctis slides his hand under the fabric, stroking the warm skin underneath, the faint trail of almost invisible blond hair. He wraps his fingers around Prompto’s waist band and pulls.

Prompto hisses. He looks up at Prompto with a frown, but Prompto shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says. “No, I’m great. Awesome. Fantastic.” He gives a stuttering laugh. “Please don’t stop.”

His lips twist into a small smirk, and instead of doing what he knows Prompto expects, he pulls his jeans down further, running his fingers over the skin it exposes. There are more scars on his legs, scrawled in jagged lines. Noctis wonders what stories they’d tell. Maybe he’ll ask. Later. But for now, he scoots backwards, and pull both jeans and boxers free.

He stands and stares at Prompto from the edge of the bed. Prompto scratches at his beard nervously, but meets Noct,’s eyes quirking a smile that he thinks is supposed to be comforting, but mostly makes Prompto look like a dork. His hands linger on his fly, and Prompto raises his eyebrows.

“Scared?” he says. Damn, Prompto knows him too well. 

“Never.” Before he can get cold feet, he unfastens his pants and leaves them where they fall, along with his underwear. He’s blushing, he can feel it, and suddenly he can’t meet Prompto’s eyes. It’s all too much, too soon and far too late.

He hears the bed creak, and feels a hand on his cheek, blunted fingernails running over hot skin, turning his head to face Prompto.

“It always was me making the first move, wasn’t it,” he says with a wistful smile.

“And you always took forever,” Noctis says. Prompto blinks rapidly, and before Noctis can say anything, Prompto leans in to kiss him, his other hand coming to rest on Noct’s waist. His lips stutter against Noct’s, and he makes a choked noise, so Noctis kisses him harder. It’s not very skillful, he knows, but he’s always used sheer force of will to bridge the gaps in skill. Why should this be any different? 

Their chests brush, and Noctis buries his hand in Prompto’s hair. His mouth moves to Prompto’s neck, and his other arm comes around, dragging him close.

“You know, we didn’t need to be naked to hug.”

“Shut up,” Noct says.

“The naked hugging is pretty nice.” Prompto drops to his knees. “But I have a better idea.” He takes Noct’s hand, and kisses the ring. “My king.”

Noctis groans. “Are you serious?” 

“Deadly.” He licks Noctis’s finger, then takes it into his mouth, sucking. Noct gasps, reaching out a hand to brace against the wall behind him. It’s just a finger, but he gets the message. 

“You’re—” Noct says. Prompto traces his tongue along the bottom of his hand. “Uh.”

“I’m what?” Prompto says sweetly.

“Just do something!”

“As you wish, your majesty.”

Before Noctis can protest the honorific, Prompto takes his dick into his mouth. If Noctis had thought his hands were hot, this is something else. One of his hands is clenched in Prompto’s hair, and he loosens his fingers, realizing he’s tugging too hard. He can feel the heat pooling inside him, drawn out by Prompto’s lips, his tongue. For the first time since he’s woken up, he feels truly alive. 

“Prompto,” he gasps out. He knows this will be over embarrassingly fast. Thirty years old, but then, he never really had the chance. His head thunks back against the wall, and his throat tightens. “I—”

Prompto swallows around him, and that’s what does it, as quick as he thought. He doesn’t pull away as Noctis comes, and Noctis wonders if he’d slightly understated the number of other partners he’d had over the years. But it doesn’t matter. He’s here now, with Noct.

As Prompto gets to his feet, Noctis looks down at his own hands. He's trembling, and he doesn’t know why. 

“Hey, Noct?” Prompto asks, concern lacing his voice. He surges forward to kiss Prompto, shaking hands cupping his face. Prompto kisses back with equal fervor, the fire building between them until the kiss is blistering. He pushes Prompto back towards the bed, fear making him brave. Prompto flops down, and Noctis falls next to him. He can see Prompto’s still hard, and there’s no hesitation now as he reaches for Prompto and pulls him closer. 

“How, I mean, what do you want?” Noctis asks. He’s idly stroking Prompto’s hair. He’s not sure when he started doing that, but it feels wonderful between his fingers.

“Whatever,” Prompto says, pushing his head into the touch like a cat. “Whatever you want.” 

“Prompto,” Noct says. Prompto’s always been far too inclined to put others before himself. Always so eager to please. Noct would’ve hoped he’d have gotten better, over the years. But maybe it’s just because it’s Noct. “What do you want?”

Prompto locks eyes with him. He has such beautiful eyes, a blue that almost shades to violet. He licks his lips, says, “Whatever you’ll give.”

“Prompto,” Noct repeats. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Prompto says. He runs a finger down Noct’s cheek, over his lips, down his neck. He grabs Noct’s hand, drags it to his mouth, and licks the palm.

“That’s gross,” Noct says. “You don’t know where I’ve been.”

“I don’t” Prompto says sadly. “But it’s not gross.” He pulls Noct’s hand down to his dick, and warps his hand around it. “I just want to see you.”

He can do that. 

As he moves his hand, he guesses the pressure, the speed, by the sounds Prompto makes, by the way his grip on Noct’s shoulder tightens and his breathing quickens. Their eyes remain locked, and Noct can tell it won’t be long for Prompto. 

“Noct—” Prompto chokes out. Noct leans in to kiss him as he comes, and smiles as Prompto becomes boneless next to him. Prompto’s eyes are half-closed, and he looks happy. Content. In a way Noct hasn’t seen since before the night.

At the end of it all, he hopes this is what Prompto remembers.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Dante's Prayer" by Loreena McKennitt.


End file.
